Old Morgan ranged the wood, nor friend,
Nor foeman ever at his side
Or shared his forests deep and dim,
Or cross'd his path or question'd him.
He stood as one who found and named
The middle world. What visions flamed
Athwart the west! What prophecies
Were his, the gray old man, that day
Who stood alone and look'd away,—
Awest from out the waving trees,